Waning Storm
by Dracoromae
Summary: With Tigerstar gone, the Clans can finally live in peace, but at great cost. ThunderClan must heal and rebuild; but for some that's easier said than done.


**A/N: Greetings FanFiction readers! This is my first story published online. Normally I would have liked to post something longer, but I really wanted to give you all a taste of what I can do. As this is my first publication, constructive criticism is appreciated but flames will be ignored. What follows is a pseudo-stream of consciousness piece, and that's all I'm going to say about it! You'll have to figure the rest out for yourselves!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Warriors characters, locations, logos, et cetera. Now without further ado, on with the show!**

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She didn't remember the vigil, or much of anything else from that night. Everything after the tree was a haze of pain and misery. They had said it was a fitting ceremony for the hero of ThunderClan, but it was a small comfort. He was still gone, snatched away in less than an instant by the very trees that sustained them all.

The tree, the one thing she could still picture clearly from that terrible day, remained in the clearing, a brutal reminder of the cost of victory. It taunted her. Every day she had to see it, powerless to remove it's burned trunk. She liked to imagine that his fiery spirit put those scars there, that he had fought back against his murderer.

Everyone had been very accommodating for the first few days. She had been excused from patrols and everyone offered supportive sentiments, but she reached her limit when Jayfeather offered poppy seeds to numb her mind. Jayfeather, of all cats. She rejoined Clan life the next day.

Today's hunt had been plentifully rewarded, considering the devastated state of the forest. Someone called to her as she laid her catch on the fresh-kill pile, congratulating her on the hunt. She turned her head and replied with a cheery thanks and a nod before heading off towards her daughter. Squirrelflight turned toward her, purring, as she approached. After a quick, motherly lick she inquired about any uncompleted tasks around camp. Receiving a shake of the deputy's head, she turned toward the Warrior's den and called her thanks. Her sharp ears caught her daughter joking with Bramblestar that she slept as much as Purdy recently. A mischievous smile crossed her muzzle. She wasn't an elder yet, she called over her shoulder.

As she passed through the den's entrance her mask melted from her face and her fur seemed to lose its fire. Her carefully placed pawsteps dragged across the dirt and her shoulders hunched in pain. Slowly she plodded to her nest and collapsed into the cold moss.

She wept. Freely and silently. She had no idea how long she stayed there, not that she cared. Three winters could pass without her acknowledgement, so long as she remained alone in the den.

Alone.

No one could know how she broke every night; no one could see her act buckle. She was the model of recovery and strength to the rest of them. She had to stay strong for them, to keep them from falling, to let them move on.

It was what he would want.

He had always been so dedicated to them, to his responsibility. He had been ready to sacrifice everything for them. He _had_ sacrificed everything for them. She had hated that in him, his disregard for his own well-being. Yet that was what had led to so many nights curled up in his den, slowly drifting off from the trials of the day as he slowly, rhythmically groomed her fur. The warmth of his flank had soothed her worries, promising that tomorrow would be a brighter day. How she missed it now.

A chill stealthily crept down her spine and permeated her chest, numbing her down to the paws. It was a moment before she realized the cold was real. She blinked, trying to rid her eyes of the blurry tears. She was startled by what came into focus.

Fog.

It was all around her, cold and damp. It seemed to soak right through her fur, making her shiver.

Frantically she looked around, searching for something familiar, something to help her get her bearings. But all was fog, and the fog was all. Slowly she stood, hard rock rough on her soft pads, and edged backwards with frantic eyes. Tension built, hanging in the vapor and weighing on her body. Utter silence roared in her ears as each unbearable moment stalked by.

She snapped.

With a cry of anguish, she charged into oblivion. Surrounded by bleak vapor, she darted left and right indiscriminately, not knowing what lay ahead. As the heavy air passed by, it filled her nose and mouth, contesting her airway and clouding her mind until all she knew was fear.

Eternity stretched on, one pawstep indistinguishable from another. Forever she ran, or perhaps only a few heartbeats; it was hard to tell.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped. She skidded to a halt, lines of blood streaking across the unforgiving stone. Her paws nudged a pebble over the awaiting abyss, which mournfully howled at the loss of its prospective victim.

Trembling, she turns away from the rocky maw, afraid even to look into its endless depths. Tracing her gaze out over her path, however, yielded no more encouragement. Dread settled in her stomach like a stone and her face fell as her keen eyes failed to find anything in the haze. Her head lowered in defeat, she watched the thin streams of blood roll from her paws into the gray, their bright color fading into the landscape.

There was a flash of red; not the rich scarlet shade of blood, closer to that of orange; then it was gone. She scanned the landscape again, searching the dead space for any color.

There it was again; a spot of orange on the horizon, slowly getting closer. The mist dissipated at his paws, burned away by the strength of his light. Trees came into view, one by one, until a forest emerged from the haze. Brush rustled in a gentle breeze and birds began their morning song, heralding the return of a king.

He had returned to her.


End file.
